The Nightwalkers

MILLS & BOON

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Summerset Plantation owner Jeffrey Carter may be scarred, but he still possesses a startling sensual allure. So Lily Running Doe discovers when she becomes his housekeeper and feels an unexpected sexual connection to him. She thought Summerset’s infamous reputation as a haunted house would be her biggest challenge, not resisting her attraction to Jeffrey.

Lilly doesn’t know that evil does lurk within the house…and it will soon claim Jeffrey. Before then, he wants to enjoy his final days—by taking pleasure in Lilly’s arms….

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter 1

Lilly Running Doe stood on the front porch and looked at the tarnished brass plate next to the old oak door: Summerset Plantation, Established 1789.

Living only six miles east on the Patomani Indian Reservation, Lilly knew of Summerset’s dark past. In the middle eighteen hundreds, the owner’s wife was rumored to have been a sorceress and devil worshiper. She disappeared during the Civil War. Some believed the devil claimed her and dragged her to hell. The plantation still had an infamous reputation for being haunted with its sightings of strange lights and green mists. Just thinking about it made Lilly’s skin crawl.

At the thought of meeting the present owner, Jeffrey Carter, her heart pounded. She knew he had lived here with his family until the death of his parents twelve years ago. Then he had boarded up the house and left suddenly. Rumor had it he’d gone to California, as far away from Summerset as he could get, it seemed. But he’d recently returned.

Lilly turned and glanced longingly down the half-mile driveway she had walked down to get there. Her sister, Daisy, had dropped her at the mailbox, not even wanting to venture up to the house. Lilly couldn’t blame her. The ancient oaks along the drive looked alive. Their limbs, sprouting new March growth, intertwined in a canopy that blocked out the sun and threw gloomy misshapen shadows beneath them that warned visitors away. She hadn’t wanted to come here, but she needed the money.

She summoned her courage and gingerly stepped toward the door and knocked.

It seemed like ages before the door opened and a deep irritated voice said, “Are you Lilly Running Doe?”

Lilly nodded, uncertain if the man behind the door could even see her. She wanted to ask if he was Mr. Jeffrey Carter but didn’t have time before the next words were hurled at her.

“Come in, then.”

Lilly swallowed hard at the unwelcome tone in his voice, as if he were doing her a favor by letting her intrude on his privacy. This wasn’t charity. She was here to earn a wage. Still she hesitated at stepping into the house without seeing the man’s face.

Her feet stayed glued to the porch, her fingers digging into her suitcase’s handle.

“Don’t just stand there,” he said as he swept past the door so quickly it frightened her.

She glimpsed a Grecian profile, collar-length nut brown hair, jeans, a plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows. He carried a hammer and it swayed in his left hand. It seemed odd he didn’t stop to face her. She had the distinct impression that he didn’t want to meet her face to face, or he was the rudest person she’d ever met. He had long, well-muscled legs, which had already propelled him to the foyer.

Lilly hurried inside, the silence oppressive, like a black hole gobbling up everything. It sucked the very air from her lungs. She forced herself to breathe.

“Close the door,” he called over his shoulder, then he disappeared from sight.

With shaky fingers, she shoved the door, flinching when

it snapped shut with a final hissing clap.

The quiet deafened her, teemed with a kind of force that suffocated everything, as if the house were actually alive. It pulsed against her senses, caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.

The musty smell of disuse and dust lingered in the air, yet for all the house’s neglect and creepy atmosphere, she had to admit it was spectacular inside. The mahogany spiral staircase before her wove up to the second floor. Walnut wainscoting filled the foyer and the long hall next to the stair case--the hallway he had taken. On her right was a parlor, filled with antiques and what looked like a grand piano, covered by a sheet. On her left, a huge dining room held massive mahogany furniture that looked as if it belonged in a medieval castle. Everything about the house seemed uninviting, gloomy, desolate.

“The kitchen is this way,” his voice echoed from the room at the end of the hall.

She moved down the hallway, her insides clenching, the suitcase thumping against her knee. She should have taken the job at Food Lion. But this one paid more. At the moment, money didn’t seem so important.

When she stepped into the kitchen, he had already climbed under the sink, banging away on a pipe. He had a flat stomach, wide shoulders that filled his shirt, corded thighs that strained at tight jeans. Lilly caught herself staring at his perfect male body and quickly surveyed the kitchen.

It was large, with a huge center island. Pots and pans hung over the island from an iron rack. The frilly blue curtains at the windows had faded to gray and looked tattered in places. Some of the window panes were cracked. The blue checked linoleum floor was caked with years of dirt and grime. A large water stain encompassed most of the ceiling. A neglected kitchen.

“Got a leak,” he said, pounding harder on a pipe. “I’ll show you your duties when I’m done. I’ll require complete loyalty from you. You are never to speak of anything that goes on inside this house—that includes interviews with the press.”

Why would the press come here?

“I didn’t ask on the internet, but how long were you employed at your last housekeeping position?”

Lilly held up her hands to sign a response, then she realized he probably didn’t know how to sign and couldn’t see her hands anyway. Why hadn’t she told him she was mute? Because he wouldn’t have hired her, that’s why. She panicked and stood there swaying on her feet.

“Well?” his voice dropped in irritation.

Lilly pulled out the pad and pencil from beneath her sweater and scribbled, “I’ve been working as a maid for years.” In frustration, she tapped the tip of the pencil on the paper.

He didn’t seem to want to pull his head and torso out from beneath the sink.

“Can’t you speak?” he said, his voice lacking all patience, his thighs tensed into granite.

Aggravation filled Lilly and she scrawled, “I’M MUTE!” She stomped her foot to get his attention.

“What’s wrong with you?” His fist closed around the hammer and he slowly backed out from under the sink by his heels. His face appeared.

It startled Lilly so much, she dropped her pencil.

It thumped to the floor and sounded like a car crash in the silence. She gasped, heart pounding, and only stared, dumbstruck.

Chapter 2

For a moment his gray eyes bored into her cinnamon colored ones. A black, form-fitting cloth mask covered the right side of his face. Scars fanned out from the edges over his ear and bottom of his jaw and neck. They were bright red as if they’d recently healed. His umber colored hair was cut short. The depths of anger in his eyes held hers as if he dared her to make a comment about his appearance, so unabashed, yet she sensed it was a defense mechanism for coping. She knew all about brave public faces. He must have suffered a horrible accident. She knew she wouldn’t win this confrontation, so she dropped her gaze and stared at the pad as she raised it for him to read.

“You can’t speak.” It wasn’t a question, but an irritated exclamation.

She nodded and listened to his heavy breaths. They sounded like a ferocious wind in the silence. Lilly had lived her whole life aware of others reactions to her. She’d built up thick emotional armor to it. But for some reason, he made her so uncomfortable by his staring and callous manner, she found her face reddening. Her whole body blushed down to her toes. She wished she’d never come here. She wheeled around to leave.

“Wait!”

His voice stopped her.

“We’ll make a good team, don’t you agree?” His voice turned bitter. “You can’t talk, and I’m a monster with no one to talk to. Ironic, isn’t it?”

She turned and blinked at him, trying not to look at the mask, but finding it impossible. Resentment, sorrow and loneliness swam in the frigid depths of his gray eyes. They were the rawest, saddest eyes Lilly had ever seen. She found herself pitying him. She nervously gripped her fingers around the handle of the suitcase until they turned white.

“So you’ll stay?” His eyes searched her face. He seemed as if he genuinely needed her.

She nodded, sending her ponytail flopping against her back.

He studied her features now, as if actually seeing her for the first time. His eyes scanned her thin body clad in jeans, white oxford shirt, and sweater. Then he let his gaze linger on her face and auburn hair. Her hair held the only claim to her vanity. It was her best feature. Thick, shiny, down to her waist. It set off her cinnamon eyes. Daisy had almost persuaded her to cut it before taking this job. She was in the beauty school tech program in high school and her favorite pastime was finding victims for her chair. Lilly was glad she hadn’t listened to her sister. At his close scrutiny, she felt the heat of a blush building in her cheeks. Had they just shared a moment of sexual awareness?

He seemed to realize he’d been staring overlong and said abruptly, “I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping, then we’ll discuss your duties.” He motioned to the suitcase. “I’ll take that for you.”

She handed it to him, and his hand brushed hers. A tingle fizzed up her fingers, all the way to her shoulder. She frowned, and told herself that that was not attraction. Granted she had never dated much. Once a guy found out she couldn’t speak, they lapsed into coward-mode and never bothered to ask her out. She barely knew her new employer. It was not attraction. She had long since decided she didn’t need a man in her life to be happy, particularly one who was as inwardly scarred as he was outwardly so.

She trailed behind him as he crossed the kitchen to a door, which she thought led to a pantry. He held it open for her and she peeked into another wing that sprawled at the back of the house.

When she stepped past him, she smelled the clean scent of soap, spicy aftershave, and his own totally male smell. Her heart sped up, and she chided herself for being foolish. It must just be the uncomfortable atmosphere in this house. She waited for him to show her the way.

He pointed to another door that was to his right. “This is the basement entrance. Whatever you do, don’t go down there.”

“Why?” she wrote.

He didn’t even bother reading what she wrote and said, “It’s damp and moldy. Nothing down there but snakes, spiders and junk.”

Lilly eyed the door. The bottom of it didn’t reach the floor all the way and an inch of pitch blackness shown beneath it. She felt as if eyes watched from the darkness. Goosebumps broke on her skin. She noticed he had walked ahead, and she double-timed it to catch up to him.

“A long time ago this addition was used as the slave quarters,” he said by way of explanation. “This part of the house is reserved for guests now. When my parents were alive, the few servants they employed slept here. It’s empty now. No one will bother you here.”

If you don’t go down to the basement, she thought ruefully. Despite the close proximity of the basement door, this wing seemed more hospitable. The bright yellow paint had faded, but the light color felt like a talisman against the darkness that pervaded the main part of the house.

They passed several bedrooms, all dull, springtime pastel colors. Sunlight filtered through a dirty window at the end of the hall. She didn’t think she’d mind sleeping in this area.

He paused before the third door. “Hope you like it. I tried to make it livable for you, but I haven’t had much time. I only arrived here two days ago.”

Where had he been? How was he injured? She wanted to ask those questions, but it really wasn’t any of her business. She stepped into her new room. Light blue paint covered the walls. A white bed, dresser and wardrobe filled the area. The blue and white gingham curtains had faded and grown tattered in places. But all in all, she liked her new digs very much.

He stepped inside. The room seemed to shrink at his presence. He was head and shoulders taller than her five-three frame, and she realized she had to look up to see his face.

“Is it okay?” He inhaled deeply as if her answer mattered to him.

She nodded and smiled, then wrote, “Great!”

He smiled back. It transformed his face, softened his gray eyes. When he smiled he was handsome, even though one side of his face was hidden by the mask and untouched by the expression. “You get settled in, and if you need anything let me know. When you’re ready, I’ll show you the rest of the house and explain your duties.” He laid her suitcase next to the wardrobe, then he sauntered from the room, wide shoulders swaying.

She inhaled the totally male fragrance he’d left behind. She rolled her eyes and told herself to stop being a stupid schoolgirl. She was not attracted to this man, and he’d never notice her. No, she wouldn’t set herself up for more disappointment.

She turned to grab her suitcase, and that’s when she heard a growl. It seemed to come from everywhere. The threatening sound rolled through her mind like a sharp clap of thunder. She whipped around.

No one.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. Had that been the house growling at her…or what lurked in the basement? She counted her breaths, then decided it had to be the wind hitting the window pane. That’s all it was. Uh-huh, sure.

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